LETTER IVFrom a Nun to a Cavalier
Ye Gods! the Torments that from Love ariseWhen the dear Object’s absent from our Eyes!I ’m told you ’ve been by raging Tempests toss’d,And forc’d to seek some Hospitable Coast,The Sea, that is the faithless Lover’s Foe,I doubt will hardly e’er agree with you.And oh! my Fears for th’ Dangers you may meet,Make me my own Tormenting Pains forget.But is your Friend then more concern’d to knowThan I, the Perils that you undergo?If not, how comes it that you cou’d affordTo write to him, whilst I have not a Word?——Why do I talk? what cou’d I else expect?But base Ingratitude, and cold Neglect?From one who slighting all which once he sworeNow seeks new Beauties on a ForeignShore.——Yet Heav’n avert its Wrath, nor may’st thou beE’er punished for thy Treachery to me,For faithless as you are, I ’m still inclin’dNot to revenge, but rather to bekind.——Tis plain, I ’m now the least of all your Care,Else you ’d have some regard to My Despair.But I, tho’ wrack’d and torn with endless Pain,To one relentless as the grave complain.Yet I, fond I! regardless of my Fame,Still Cherish, and Indulge this fatal Flame;{In vain my Reason offers to perswade,{I scorn its Counsel, and contemn its Aid,{And find a Pleasure in my being mad.Had you but with this Coldness been possest,When first you rais’d those Tumults in my Breast:How many plagues had it from me detain’d!How calm! how easie had I now remain’d!But where’s the Woman wou’d not have believ’dYour Arts, and not have been (like me) deceiv’d?Who cou’d your num’rous Oaths and Vows mistrust?Who cou’d have thought that you shou’d prove unjust?The frequent Protestations that you madeWou’d have a Heart more firm than mine betray’d.’Tis hard to think the Man whom once we love,Shou’d false, shou’d cruel, and ingrateful prove.{Nay, I ’m so easie, I ’ve already made{Excuses for you, and wou’d fain perswade{My too too cred’lous Heart, that I am not betray’d.It was your Converse that at first refin’dMy Ignorance, and till then, unpolish’d Mind.’Twas from your Passion that I caught this FlameThat is destructive to my Ease and Fame.In vain ’gainst you I strove my Heart to arm,For you in ev’ry Action had a Charm.Your pleasing Humour, and the Oaths you swore,Made me believe you ever wou’d adore.But now (alas!) those grateful Thoughts are fled,And all my Hopes are with my Pleasures dead:I sigh and weep, a thousand Plagues possessMy Soul, and give me not a moment’s Ease.{Great were my past Delights, I must confess,{Excessive were the Joys, and vast the Bliss,{But then, oh, cruel Fate! my Miseries were not less.——Had I with Artifice e’er drawn you on,And what I most desir’d have seem’d to shun;Had I the cunning Arts of Women us’d,And with feign’d Scorn your gen’rous Love abus’d;Had I my growing Flame with Care supprestWhen first I felt it rising in my Breast;Nay, when I found I lov’d, had I conceal’dMy Passion, nor to you my Soul reveal’d,That for your Hate had been some small Pretence,Which you might now have urg’d in your defence;But——So far was I from using such Deceit,My Heart was never conscious of a Cheat:And I no sooner of your Passion knew,But frankly I return’d the like toyou.——Yet you, tho’ I was fondly blind, cou’d see,Not ign’rant what the Consequence wou’d be.Why with such Wiles then did you draw me on,To leave me wretched, hopeless, and undone?You knew you shou’d not long continue here,And so did make me love but to despair.Why was I singl’d out alone to beTh’ unhappy Object of your Cruelty?——Sure in this Country you might those have metWho were for your cross Purposes more fit;Such, who by frequent Use had got the Pow’rTo give their Hearts but for the present Hour;Who of your Falshood never wou’d complain,Nor give themselves for you a moment’s Pain.Is ’t like a Lover then to use me so,Me, who ’d give up all I have for you?Is it not rather like a Tyrant done,To ruine and destroy what is your own?Had you but lov’d so truly as you said,You never from me in such haste had fled.But you! how easie did you go away!Nay, e’en seem’d pleas’d you cou’d no longer stayThe few Excuses that you made to go,How slight they were! but any thing wou’d do,To fly from one already nauseous grown,That lov’d you but too well, and trusted you toosoon.——‘My Friends (you cry) and Honour call me hence,‘And I must now be gone, to serve my Prince,’Why was not that nice Honour thought on then,When you deluded me to give up mine?This was all Fiction, which you did deviseTo seem less guilty, and to blind my Eyes.But, ah! should I have too much Bliss enjoy’d,Might I with you have liv’d, with you have dy’d.——My only Comfort is, I ’ve been to you,Spite of this Absence, constant, just, and true;And can you then, who all my Thoughts controul,And know the earnest Secrets of my Soul,Can you be so regardless of my Pray’r,T’ abandon me for ever to Despair?{You see I ’m mad, but yet I ’ll not complain,{For I ’m so us’d to suffer your Disdain,{That now I find a Pleasure in my Pain.——But what ’s my greatest Curse, those things no moreCan please me now, which I have lik’d before.{My Friends, Relations, and my Convent too,{Are odious all, and all detested grow,{Nay, ev’ry thing that not relates to you.The flitting Hours of each succeeding Day,If not on you bestow’d, I think they ’re thrownaway.——So great ’s my Love, and with such pow’r does rule,It takes up the whole Business of my Soul.{Why then t’ expel this Passion shou’d I strive?{For ’tis impossible I shou’d survive{This restless state, and with Indiff’rence live.So much I now am chang’d from what I was,That all observe and wonder what ’s the Cause:My Mother chides, and urges me to tellWhat ’tis creates my Grief, and what I ail,I hardly know what Answers I have made,But I believe that I have all betray’d.The most severe and hardest Hearts relent,And are with Pity touch’d at my Complaint.To cruel Thee alone I sigh in vain,For all the World beside compassionates my Pain.’Tis seldom that you write, and when you do,Your Lukewarmness each Line does plainly shew.’Tis all but Repetition and Constraint,Dull is each Word, and each Expressionfaint.——My kind Companion took me t’ other dayTo the Balcon’ that looks tow’rds Mertola;The Sight so struck my Heart that, while I stood,Strait from my Eyes a briny Deluge flow’d.I then return’d, and strove to ease my Care,For all my Thoughts brought nothing but Despair.What others do to help me in my Grief,Adds only to my Pains, and brings me noRelief.——From that Balcon’ I often took delightTo see you pass, and languish’d for the Sight.’Twas there that fatal Day I chanc’d to beWhen first my Heart resign’d its Liberty:’Twas there I drew the Poison from your Eyes,’Twas there this raging Passion had its rise.Methought on me alone you seem’d to gaze,And careless look’d on every other Face;And when you stopt, I fondly thought to me’Twas meant that I your lovely Shape might see.I call to mind what Trembling seiz’d my Breast,Caus’d by a Leap given by your prancing Beast.I near concern’d in all your Actions was,Flatter’d my self I was of some the cause.What follow’d, to relate I ’ll now forbear,Lest you appear more cruel than you are;And ’twill perhaps your Vanity encreaseTo find my Labours have no more Success.Fool as I am! to think to move you moreBy Threats than all my Love cou’d do before!Too well (alas!) I know my Fate to come,And you ’re too too unjust to make me doubt my Doom.Since I am not allow’d your Love to share,All ills in Nature I have cause to fear.I shou’d be pleas’d did all our Sex admireYour Charms, if you did not return the Fire;But there ’s no fear, I by Experience knowNone ever long will be ador’d by you.You ’ll easily enough forget my CharmsWithout the taking others to your Arms.By Heav’ns, I love, I doat to that degree,That since I find you ’re ever lost to me,I wish you ’ad some Excuse to hide your Crime,That to the World you might less guilty seem.’Tis true, ’twould make my Case but so much worse,But then ’twould advantageous be toyours.——While you are free, in France, perhaps the fearOf not returning Love for Love may keep you there.{But mind not that, if you I sometimes see,{I shall contented with my Fortune be,{To know one country holds my Love and me.Why with vain Hopes do I my Reason blind?To one less doting you may prove more kind.Pride in another may a Conquest gainGreater than mine, with all the endless PainOf constant Love, which I ’ve endur’d for you:But, oh! from me take Warning what you do;Retract your Heart ere yet (it) is too late,And think upon my too too wretched Fate,Reflect upon my endless Miseries,Despairs, Distractions, and my Jealousies;Think on the Trust that I ’ve repos’d in you,Th’ Extravagance which all my Letters shew.I well remember you in Earnest said,For one in France you once a Passion had.If she ’s the Reason why you don’t return,Be free, and let me thus no longer mourn;For if my Hopes and Wishes are but vain,Tell me theTruth——And end at once my wretched Life andPain.——To me her Picture and her Letters send,They ’ll make me worse, or else my Fate amend;Such is the State of miserable me,That any change would advantageous beYour Brother’s and your Sister’s send me too,All will be dear to me that ’s so toyou.——Methinks I cou’d submit to wait uponThe happy Woman that your Heart has won,So humble am I made by all your Scorn,And the ill Usage that from you I ’ve born;Scarce dare I say, I may myself allowTo Jealous be, without displeasing you,Fain wou’d I think that I mistaken am,And fain perswaded be, that you are not to blame.The Person that ’s to bear these Lines to you,Wants to be gone, and does impatient grow.I thought in this not to have giv’n Offence,But yet I ’m fall’n into Extravagance.And now methinks ’tis time that I had done,But I ’ve no Pow’r to end these Lines so soon,Nor force the pleasing Vision from my Sight;My lovely Charmer’s present while I write.{Twelve solitary Months are almost past{Since in your trembling Arms you held me last,{And fondly, to my Ruin, me embrac’d.Fierce, and true as mine, I thought your Flame,And, oh! believ’d ’twould always be the same.Ne’er cou’d I think, that when you had enjoy’dMy Favours, with them you ’d so soon be cloy’d:{Or that the Dangers of the Sea you ’d run,{Scorn Rocks and Pirates too, that you might shun{A Maid that lov’d like me, and is by you undone.{Reflect, thou faithless Man! and call to mind{What I ’ve endur’d for you, yet not repin’d,{And tell me, can this Treatment then be kind?The Officer now presses me to ’ve doneMy Letter, or (he says) he must be gone;He ’s as impatient, as if he, like you,Were running from another Mistress too,Farewel—from me you parted with more ease(Perhaps for ever too) than I can do with these.My Mind a thousand pleasing Notions frames,And I cou’d call you many tender Names;More dear than is my Life to me, are you;And dearer far than I imagine too;Sure never any yet so cruel prov’d,To be so barb’rous when so well belov’d.’Tis hard to end,—See I begin anew,And th’ Officer won’t stay; oh! let him go:I write to entertain my self, not you;And ’tis so long, you ’ll never read it thro’,Gods! how have I deserv’d such Plagues as these?And why was you pick’d out to spoil my Peace?Oh! why was I not born where I might passIn Innocence and Happiness my Days?’Tis too too much to bear, no Tongue can tellWhat I endure—Farewel—false Man!—Farewel,See! see! how miserable I ’m made by you,When I dare not so much as ask your Love—adieu.
Ye Gods! the Torments that from Love ariseWhen the dear Object’s absent from our Eyes!I ’m told you ’ve been by raging Tempests toss’d,And forc’d to seek some Hospitable Coast,The Sea, that is the faithless Lover’s Foe,I doubt will hardly e’er agree with you.And oh! my Fears for th’ Dangers you may meet,Make me my own Tormenting Pains forget.But is your Friend then more concern’d to knowThan I, the Perils that you undergo?If not, how comes it that you cou’d affordTo write to him, whilst I have not a Word?——Why do I talk? what cou’d I else expect?But base Ingratitude, and cold Neglect?From one who slighting all which once he sworeNow seeks new Beauties on a ForeignShore.——Yet Heav’n avert its Wrath, nor may’st thou beE’er punished for thy Treachery to me,For faithless as you are, I ’m still inclin’dNot to revenge, but rather to bekind.——Tis plain, I ’m now the least of all your Care,Else you ’d have some regard to My Despair.But I, tho’ wrack’d and torn with endless Pain,To one relentless as the grave complain.Yet I, fond I! regardless of my Fame,Still Cherish, and Indulge this fatal Flame;{In vain my Reason offers to perswade,{I scorn its Counsel, and contemn its Aid,{And find a Pleasure in my being mad.Had you but with this Coldness been possest,When first you rais’d those Tumults in my Breast:How many plagues had it from me detain’d!How calm! how easie had I now remain’d!But where’s the Woman wou’d not have believ’dYour Arts, and not have been (like me) deceiv’d?Who cou’d your num’rous Oaths and Vows mistrust?Who cou’d have thought that you shou’d prove unjust?The frequent Protestations that you madeWou’d have a Heart more firm than mine betray’d.’Tis hard to think the Man whom once we love,Shou’d false, shou’d cruel, and ingrateful prove.{Nay, I ’m so easie, I ’ve already made{Excuses for you, and wou’d fain perswade{My too too cred’lous Heart, that I am not betray’d.It was your Converse that at first refin’dMy Ignorance, and till then, unpolish’d Mind.’Twas from your Passion that I caught this FlameThat is destructive to my Ease and Fame.In vain ’gainst you I strove my Heart to arm,For you in ev’ry Action had a Charm.Your pleasing Humour, and the Oaths you swore,Made me believe you ever wou’d adore.But now (alas!) those grateful Thoughts are fled,And all my Hopes are with my Pleasures dead:I sigh and weep, a thousand Plagues possessMy Soul, and give me not a moment’s Ease.{Great were my past Delights, I must confess,{Excessive were the Joys, and vast the Bliss,{But then, oh, cruel Fate! my Miseries were not less.——Had I with Artifice e’er drawn you on,And what I most desir’d have seem’d to shun;Had I the cunning Arts of Women us’d,And with feign’d Scorn your gen’rous Love abus’d;Had I my growing Flame with Care supprestWhen first I felt it rising in my Breast;Nay, when I found I lov’d, had I conceal’dMy Passion, nor to you my Soul reveal’d,That for your Hate had been some small Pretence,Which you might now have urg’d in your defence;But——So far was I from using such Deceit,My Heart was never conscious of a Cheat:And I no sooner of your Passion knew,But frankly I return’d the like toyou.——Yet you, tho’ I was fondly blind, cou’d see,Not ign’rant what the Consequence wou’d be.Why with such Wiles then did you draw me on,To leave me wretched, hopeless, and undone?You knew you shou’d not long continue here,And so did make me love but to despair.Why was I singl’d out alone to beTh’ unhappy Object of your Cruelty?——Sure in this Country you might those have metWho were for your cross Purposes more fit;Such, who by frequent Use had got the Pow’rTo give their Hearts but for the present Hour;Who of your Falshood never wou’d complain,Nor give themselves for you a moment’s Pain.Is ’t like a Lover then to use me so,Me, who ’d give up all I have for you?Is it not rather like a Tyrant done,To ruine and destroy what is your own?Had you but lov’d so truly as you said,You never from me in such haste had fled.But you! how easie did you go away!Nay, e’en seem’d pleas’d you cou’d no longer stayThe few Excuses that you made to go,How slight they were! but any thing wou’d do,To fly from one already nauseous grown,That lov’d you but too well, and trusted you toosoon.——‘My Friends (you cry) and Honour call me hence,‘And I must now be gone, to serve my Prince,’Why was not that nice Honour thought on then,When you deluded me to give up mine?This was all Fiction, which you did deviseTo seem less guilty, and to blind my Eyes.But, ah! should I have too much Bliss enjoy’d,Might I with you have liv’d, with you have dy’d.——My only Comfort is, I ’ve been to you,Spite of this Absence, constant, just, and true;And can you then, who all my Thoughts controul,And know the earnest Secrets of my Soul,Can you be so regardless of my Pray’r,T’ abandon me for ever to Despair?{You see I ’m mad, but yet I ’ll not complain,{For I ’m so us’d to suffer your Disdain,{That now I find a Pleasure in my Pain.——But what ’s my greatest Curse, those things no moreCan please me now, which I have lik’d before.{My Friends, Relations, and my Convent too,{Are odious all, and all detested grow,{Nay, ev’ry thing that not relates to you.The flitting Hours of each succeeding Day,If not on you bestow’d, I think they ’re thrownaway.——So great ’s my Love, and with such pow’r does rule,It takes up the whole Business of my Soul.{Why then t’ expel this Passion shou’d I strive?{For ’tis impossible I shou’d survive{This restless state, and with Indiff’rence live.So much I now am chang’d from what I was,That all observe and wonder what ’s the Cause:My Mother chides, and urges me to tellWhat ’tis creates my Grief, and what I ail,I hardly know what Answers I have made,But I believe that I have all betray’d.The most severe and hardest Hearts relent,And are with Pity touch’d at my Complaint.To cruel Thee alone I sigh in vain,For all the World beside compassionates my Pain.’Tis seldom that you write, and when you do,Your Lukewarmness each Line does plainly shew.’Tis all but Repetition and Constraint,Dull is each Word, and each Expressionfaint.——My kind Companion took me t’ other dayTo the Balcon’ that looks tow’rds Mertola;The Sight so struck my Heart that, while I stood,Strait from my Eyes a briny Deluge flow’d.I then return’d, and strove to ease my Care,For all my Thoughts brought nothing but Despair.What others do to help me in my Grief,Adds only to my Pains, and brings me noRelief.——From that Balcon’ I often took delightTo see you pass, and languish’d for the Sight.’Twas there that fatal Day I chanc’d to beWhen first my Heart resign’d its Liberty:’Twas there I drew the Poison from your Eyes,’Twas there this raging Passion had its rise.Methought on me alone you seem’d to gaze,And careless look’d on every other Face;And when you stopt, I fondly thought to me’Twas meant that I your lovely Shape might see.I call to mind what Trembling seiz’d my Breast,Caus’d by a Leap given by your prancing Beast.I near concern’d in all your Actions was,Flatter’d my self I was of some the cause.What follow’d, to relate I ’ll now forbear,Lest you appear more cruel than you are;And ’twill perhaps your Vanity encreaseTo find my Labours have no more Success.Fool as I am! to think to move you moreBy Threats than all my Love cou’d do before!Too well (alas!) I know my Fate to come,And you ’re too too unjust to make me doubt my Doom.Since I am not allow’d your Love to share,All ills in Nature I have cause to fear.I shou’d be pleas’d did all our Sex admireYour Charms, if you did not return the Fire;But there ’s no fear, I by Experience knowNone ever long will be ador’d by you.You ’ll easily enough forget my CharmsWithout the taking others to your Arms.By Heav’ns, I love, I doat to that degree,That since I find you ’re ever lost to me,I wish you ’ad some Excuse to hide your Crime,That to the World you might less guilty seem.’Tis true, ’twould make my Case but so much worse,But then ’twould advantageous be toyours.——While you are free, in France, perhaps the fearOf not returning Love for Love may keep you there.{But mind not that, if you I sometimes see,{I shall contented with my Fortune be,{To know one country holds my Love and me.Why with vain Hopes do I my Reason blind?To one less doting you may prove more kind.Pride in another may a Conquest gainGreater than mine, with all the endless PainOf constant Love, which I ’ve endur’d for you:But, oh! from me take Warning what you do;Retract your Heart ere yet (it) is too late,And think upon my too too wretched Fate,Reflect upon my endless Miseries,Despairs, Distractions, and my Jealousies;Think on the Trust that I ’ve repos’d in you,Th’ Extravagance which all my Letters shew.I well remember you in Earnest said,For one in France you once a Passion had.If she ’s the Reason why you don’t return,Be free, and let me thus no longer mourn;For if my Hopes and Wishes are but vain,Tell me theTruth——And end at once my wretched Life andPain.——To me her Picture and her Letters send,They ’ll make me worse, or else my Fate amend;Such is the State of miserable me,That any change would advantageous beYour Brother’s and your Sister’s send me too,All will be dear to me that ’s so toyou.——Methinks I cou’d submit to wait uponThe happy Woman that your Heart has won,So humble am I made by all your Scorn,And the ill Usage that from you I ’ve born;Scarce dare I say, I may myself allowTo Jealous be, without displeasing you,Fain wou’d I think that I mistaken am,And fain perswaded be, that you are not to blame.The Person that ’s to bear these Lines to you,Wants to be gone, and does impatient grow.I thought in this not to have giv’n Offence,But yet I ’m fall’n into Extravagance.And now methinks ’tis time that I had done,But I ’ve no Pow’r to end these Lines so soon,Nor force the pleasing Vision from my Sight;My lovely Charmer’s present while I write.{Twelve solitary Months are almost past{Since in your trembling Arms you held me last,{And fondly, to my Ruin, me embrac’d.Fierce, and true as mine, I thought your Flame,And, oh! believ’d ’twould always be the same.Ne’er cou’d I think, that when you had enjoy’dMy Favours, with them you ’d so soon be cloy’d:{Or that the Dangers of the Sea you ’d run,{Scorn Rocks and Pirates too, that you might shun{A Maid that lov’d like me, and is by you undone.{Reflect, thou faithless Man! and call to mind{What I ’ve endur’d for you, yet not repin’d,{And tell me, can this Treatment then be kind?The Officer now presses me to ’ve doneMy Letter, or (he says) he must be gone;He ’s as impatient, as if he, like you,Were running from another Mistress too,Farewel—from me you parted with more ease(Perhaps for ever too) than I can do with these.My Mind a thousand pleasing Notions frames,And I cou’d call you many tender Names;More dear than is my Life to me, are you;And dearer far than I imagine too;Sure never any yet so cruel prov’d,To be so barb’rous when so well belov’d.’Tis hard to end,—See I begin anew,And th’ Officer won’t stay; oh! let him go:I write to entertain my self, not you;And ’tis so long, you ’ll never read it thro’,Gods! how have I deserv’d such Plagues as these?And why was you pick’d out to spoil my Peace?Oh! why was I not born where I might passIn Innocence and Happiness my Days?’Tis too too much to bear, no Tongue can tellWhat I endure—Farewel—false Man!—Farewel,See! see! how miserable I ’m made by you,When I dare not so much as ask your Love—adieu.
Ye Gods! the Torments that from Love ariseWhen the dear Object’s absent from our Eyes!I ’m told you ’ve been by raging Tempests toss’d,And forc’d to seek some Hospitable Coast,The Sea, that is the faithless Lover’s Foe,I doubt will hardly e’er agree with you.And oh! my Fears for th’ Dangers you may meet,Make me my own Tormenting Pains forget.
Ye Gods! the Torments that from Love arise
When the dear Object’s absent from our Eyes!
I ’m told you ’ve been by raging Tempests toss’d,
And forc’d to seek some Hospitable Coast,
The Sea, that is the faithless Lover’s Foe,
I doubt will hardly e’er agree with you.
And oh! my Fears for th’ Dangers you may meet,
Make me my own Tormenting Pains forget.
But is your Friend then more concern’d to knowThan I, the Perils that you undergo?If not, how comes it that you cou’d affordTo write to him, whilst I have not a Word?——
But is your Friend then more concern’d to know
Than I, the Perils that you undergo?
If not, how comes it that you cou’d afford
To write to him, whilst I have not a Word?——
Why do I talk? what cou’d I else expect?But base Ingratitude, and cold Neglect?From one who slighting all which once he sworeNow seeks new Beauties on a ForeignShore.——Yet Heav’n avert its Wrath, nor may’st thou beE’er punished for thy Treachery to me,For faithless as you are, I ’m still inclin’dNot to revenge, but rather to bekind.——
Why do I talk? what cou’d I else expect?
But base Ingratitude, and cold Neglect?
From one who slighting all which once he swore
Now seeks new Beauties on a ForeignShore.——
Yet Heav’n avert its Wrath, nor may’st thou be
E’er punished for thy Treachery to me,
For faithless as you are, I ’m still inclin’d
Not to revenge, but rather to bekind.——
Tis plain, I ’m now the least of all your Care,Else you ’d have some regard to My Despair.But I, tho’ wrack’d and torn with endless Pain,To one relentless as the grave complain.Yet I, fond I! regardless of my Fame,Still Cherish, and Indulge this fatal Flame;{In vain my Reason offers to perswade,{I scorn its Counsel, and contemn its Aid,{And find a Pleasure in my being mad.Had you but with this Coldness been possest,When first you rais’d those Tumults in my Breast:How many plagues had it from me detain’d!How calm! how easie had I now remain’d!
Tis plain, I ’m now the least of all your Care,
Else you ’d have some regard to My Despair.
But I, tho’ wrack’d and torn with endless Pain,
To one relentless as the grave complain.
Yet I, fond I! regardless of my Fame,
Still Cherish, and Indulge this fatal Flame;
{In vain my Reason offers to perswade,
{I scorn its Counsel, and contemn its Aid,
{And find a Pleasure in my being mad.
Had you but with this Coldness been possest,
When first you rais’d those Tumults in my Breast:
How many plagues had it from me detain’d!
How calm! how easie had I now remain’d!
But where’s the Woman wou’d not have believ’dYour Arts, and not have been (like me) deceiv’d?Who cou’d your num’rous Oaths and Vows mistrust?Who cou’d have thought that you shou’d prove unjust?The frequent Protestations that you madeWou’d have a Heart more firm than mine betray’d.’Tis hard to think the Man whom once we love,Shou’d false, shou’d cruel, and ingrateful prove.{Nay, I ’m so easie, I ’ve already made{Excuses for you, and wou’d fain perswade{My too too cred’lous Heart, that I am not betray’d.It was your Converse that at first refin’dMy Ignorance, and till then, unpolish’d Mind.
But where’s the Woman wou’d not have believ’d
Your Arts, and not have been (like me) deceiv’d?
Who cou’d your num’rous Oaths and Vows mistrust?
Who cou’d have thought that you shou’d prove unjust?
The frequent Protestations that you made
Wou’d have a Heart more firm than mine betray’d.
’Tis hard to think the Man whom once we love,
Shou’d false, shou’d cruel, and ingrateful prove.
{Nay, I ’m so easie, I ’ve already made
{Excuses for you, and wou’d fain perswade
{My too too cred’lous Heart, that I am not betray’d.
It was your Converse that at first refin’d
My Ignorance, and till then, unpolish’d Mind.
’Twas from your Passion that I caught this FlameThat is destructive to my Ease and Fame.In vain ’gainst you I strove my Heart to arm,For you in ev’ry Action had a Charm.Your pleasing Humour, and the Oaths you swore,Made me believe you ever wou’d adore.But now (alas!) those grateful Thoughts are fled,And all my Hopes are with my Pleasures dead:I sigh and weep, a thousand Plagues possessMy Soul, and give me not a moment’s Ease.{Great were my past Delights, I must confess,{Excessive were the Joys, and vast the Bliss,{But then, oh, cruel Fate! my Miseries were not less.——Had I with Artifice e’er drawn you on,And what I most desir’d have seem’d to shun;Had I the cunning Arts of Women us’d,And with feign’d Scorn your gen’rous Love abus’d;Had I my growing Flame with Care supprestWhen first I felt it rising in my Breast;Nay, when I found I lov’d, had I conceal’dMy Passion, nor to you my Soul reveal’d,That for your Hate had been some small Pretence,Which you might now have urg’d in your defence;But——So far was I from using such Deceit,My Heart was never conscious of a Cheat:And I no sooner of your Passion knew,But frankly I return’d the like toyou.——
’Twas from your Passion that I caught this Flame
That is destructive to my Ease and Fame.
In vain ’gainst you I strove my Heart to arm,
For you in ev’ry Action had a Charm.
Your pleasing Humour, and the Oaths you swore,
Made me believe you ever wou’d adore.
But now (alas!) those grateful Thoughts are fled,
And all my Hopes are with my Pleasures dead:
I sigh and weep, a thousand Plagues possess
My Soul, and give me not a moment’s Ease.
{Great were my past Delights, I must confess,
{Excessive were the Joys, and vast the Bliss,
{But then, oh, cruel Fate! my Miseries were not less.——
Had I with Artifice e’er drawn you on,
And what I most desir’d have seem’d to shun;
Had I the cunning Arts of Women us’d,
And with feign’d Scorn your gen’rous Love abus’d;
Had I my growing Flame with Care supprest
When first I felt it rising in my Breast;
Nay, when I found I lov’d, had I conceal’d
My Passion, nor to you my Soul reveal’d,
That for your Hate had been some small Pretence,
Which you might now have urg’d in your defence;
But——
So far was I from using such Deceit,
My Heart was never conscious of a Cheat:
And I no sooner of your Passion knew,
But frankly I return’d the like toyou.——
Yet you, tho’ I was fondly blind, cou’d see,Not ign’rant what the Consequence wou’d be.Why with such Wiles then did you draw me on,To leave me wretched, hopeless, and undone?You knew you shou’d not long continue here,And so did make me love but to despair.Why was I singl’d out alone to beTh’ unhappy Object of your Cruelty?——Sure in this Country you might those have metWho were for your cross Purposes more fit;Such, who by frequent Use had got the Pow’rTo give their Hearts but for the present Hour;Who of your Falshood never wou’d complain,Nor give themselves for you a moment’s Pain.Is ’t like a Lover then to use me so,Me, who ’d give up all I have for you?Is it not rather like a Tyrant done,To ruine and destroy what is your own?
Yet you, tho’ I was fondly blind, cou’d see,
Not ign’rant what the Consequence wou’d be.
Why with such Wiles then did you draw me on,
To leave me wretched, hopeless, and undone?
You knew you shou’d not long continue here,
And so did make me love but to despair.
Why was I singl’d out alone to be
Th’ unhappy Object of your Cruelty?——
Sure in this Country you might those have met
Who were for your cross Purposes more fit;
Such, who by frequent Use had got the Pow’r
To give their Hearts but for the present Hour;
Who of your Falshood never wou’d complain,
Nor give themselves for you a moment’s Pain.
Is ’t like a Lover then to use me so,
Me, who ’d give up all I have for you?
Is it not rather like a Tyrant done,
To ruine and destroy what is your own?
Had you but lov’d so truly as you said,You never from me in such haste had fled.But you! how easie did you go away!Nay, e’en seem’d pleas’d you cou’d no longer stayThe few Excuses that you made to go,How slight they were! but any thing wou’d do,To fly from one already nauseous grown,That lov’d you but too well, and trusted you toosoon.——
Had you but lov’d so truly as you said,
You never from me in such haste had fled.
But you! how easie did you go away!
Nay, e’en seem’d pleas’d you cou’d no longer stay
The few Excuses that you made to go,
How slight they were! but any thing wou’d do,
To fly from one already nauseous grown,
That lov’d you but too well, and trusted you toosoon.——
‘My Friends (you cry) and Honour call me hence,‘And I must now be gone, to serve my Prince,’Why was not that nice Honour thought on then,When you deluded me to give up mine?This was all Fiction, which you did deviseTo seem less guilty, and to blind my Eyes.But, ah! should I have too much Bliss enjoy’d,Might I with you have liv’d, with you have dy’d.——My only Comfort is, I ’ve been to you,Spite of this Absence, constant, just, and true;And can you then, who all my Thoughts controul,And know the earnest Secrets of my Soul,Can you be so regardless of my Pray’r,T’ abandon me for ever to Despair?{You see I ’m mad, but yet I ’ll not complain,{For I ’m so us’d to suffer your Disdain,{That now I find a Pleasure in my Pain.——
‘My Friends (you cry) and Honour call me hence,
‘And I must now be gone, to serve my Prince,’
Why was not that nice Honour thought on then,
When you deluded me to give up mine?
This was all Fiction, which you did devise
To seem less guilty, and to blind my Eyes.
But, ah! should I have too much Bliss enjoy’d,
Might I with you have liv’d, with you have dy’d.——
My only Comfort is, I ’ve been to you,
Spite of this Absence, constant, just, and true;
And can you then, who all my Thoughts controul,
And know the earnest Secrets of my Soul,
Can you be so regardless of my Pray’r,
T’ abandon me for ever to Despair?
{You see I ’m mad, but yet I ’ll not complain,
{For I ’m so us’d to suffer your Disdain,
{That now I find a Pleasure in my Pain.——
But what ’s my greatest Curse, those things no moreCan please me now, which I have lik’d before.{My Friends, Relations, and my Convent too,{Are odious all, and all detested grow,{Nay, ev’ry thing that not relates to you.The flitting Hours of each succeeding Day,If not on you bestow’d, I think they ’re thrownaway.——
But what ’s my greatest Curse, those things no more
Can please me now, which I have lik’d before.
{My Friends, Relations, and my Convent too,
{Are odious all, and all detested grow,
{Nay, ev’ry thing that not relates to you.
The flitting Hours of each succeeding Day,
If not on you bestow’d, I think they ’re thrownaway.——
So great ’s my Love, and with such pow’r does rule,It takes up the whole Business of my Soul.{Why then t’ expel this Passion shou’d I strive?{For ’tis impossible I shou’d survive{This restless state, and with Indiff’rence live.
So great ’s my Love, and with such pow’r does rule,
It takes up the whole Business of my Soul.
{Why then t’ expel this Passion shou’d I strive?
{For ’tis impossible I shou’d survive
{This restless state, and with Indiff’rence live.
So much I now am chang’d from what I was,That all observe and wonder what ’s the Cause:My Mother chides, and urges me to tellWhat ’tis creates my Grief, and what I ail,I hardly know what Answers I have made,But I believe that I have all betray’d.The most severe and hardest Hearts relent,And are with Pity touch’d at my Complaint.To cruel Thee alone I sigh in vain,For all the World beside compassionates my Pain.
So much I now am chang’d from what I was,
That all observe and wonder what ’s the Cause:
My Mother chides, and urges me to tell
What ’tis creates my Grief, and what I ail,
I hardly know what Answers I have made,
But I believe that I have all betray’d.
The most severe and hardest Hearts relent,
And are with Pity touch’d at my Complaint.
To cruel Thee alone I sigh in vain,
For all the World beside compassionates my Pain.
’Tis seldom that you write, and when you do,Your Lukewarmness each Line does plainly shew.’Tis all but Repetition and Constraint,Dull is each Word, and each Expressionfaint.——
’Tis seldom that you write, and when you do,
Your Lukewarmness each Line does plainly shew.
’Tis all but Repetition and Constraint,
Dull is each Word, and each Expressionfaint.——
My kind Companion took me t’ other dayTo the Balcon’ that looks tow’rds Mertola;The Sight so struck my Heart that, while I stood,Strait from my Eyes a briny Deluge flow’d.I then return’d, and strove to ease my Care,For all my Thoughts brought nothing but Despair.What others do to help me in my Grief,Adds only to my Pains, and brings me noRelief.——
My kind Companion took me t’ other day
To the Balcon’ that looks tow’rds Mertola;
The Sight so struck my Heart that, while I stood,
Strait from my Eyes a briny Deluge flow’d.
I then return’d, and strove to ease my Care,
For all my Thoughts brought nothing but Despair.
What others do to help me in my Grief,
Adds only to my Pains, and brings me noRelief.——
From that Balcon’ I often took delightTo see you pass, and languish’d for the Sight.’Twas there that fatal Day I chanc’d to beWhen first my Heart resign’d its Liberty:’Twas there I drew the Poison from your Eyes,’Twas there this raging Passion had its rise.Methought on me alone you seem’d to gaze,And careless look’d on every other Face;And when you stopt, I fondly thought to me’Twas meant that I your lovely Shape might see.
From that Balcon’ I often took delight
To see you pass, and languish’d for the Sight.
’Twas there that fatal Day I chanc’d to be
When first my Heart resign’d its Liberty:
’Twas there I drew the Poison from your Eyes,
’Twas there this raging Passion had its rise.
Methought on me alone you seem’d to gaze,
And careless look’d on every other Face;
And when you stopt, I fondly thought to me
’Twas meant that I your lovely Shape might see.
I call to mind what Trembling seiz’d my Breast,Caus’d by a Leap given by your prancing Beast.I near concern’d in all your Actions was,Flatter’d my self I was of some the cause.What follow’d, to relate I ’ll now forbear,Lest you appear more cruel than you are;And ’twill perhaps your Vanity encreaseTo find my Labours have no more Success.Fool as I am! to think to move you moreBy Threats than all my Love cou’d do before!Too well (alas!) I know my Fate to come,And you ’re too too unjust to make me doubt my Doom.
I call to mind what Trembling seiz’d my Breast,
Caus’d by a Leap given by your prancing Beast.
I near concern’d in all your Actions was,
Flatter’d my self I was of some the cause.
What follow’d, to relate I ’ll now forbear,
Lest you appear more cruel than you are;
And ’twill perhaps your Vanity encrease
To find my Labours have no more Success.
Fool as I am! to think to move you more
By Threats than all my Love cou’d do before!
Too well (alas!) I know my Fate to come,
And you ’re too too unjust to make me doubt my Doom.
Since I am not allow’d your Love to share,All ills in Nature I have cause to fear.I shou’d be pleas’d did all our Sex admireYour Charms, if you did not return the Fire;But there ’s no fear, I by Experience knowNone ever long will be ador’d by you.You ’ll easily enough forget my CharmsWithout the taking others to your Arms.By Heav’ns, I love, I doat to that degree,That since I find you ’re ever lost to me,I wish you ’ad some Excuse to hide your Crime,That to the World you might less guilty seem.’Tis true, ’twould make my Case but so much worse,But then ’twould advantageous be toyours.——
Since I am not allow’d your Love to share,
All ills in Nature I have cause to fear.
I shou’d be pleas’d did all our Sex admire
Your Charms, if you did not return the Fire;
But there ’s no fear, I by Experience know
None ever long will be ador’d by you.
You ’ll easily enough forget my Charms
Without the taking others to your Arms.
By Heav’ns, I love, I doat to that degree,
That since I find you ’re ever lost to me,
I wish you ’ad some Excuse to hide your Crime,
That to the World you might less guilty seem.
’Tis true, ’twould make my Case but so much worse,
But then ’twould advantageous be toyours.——
While you are free, in France, perhaps the fearOf not returning Love for Love may keep you there.{But mind not that, if you I sometimes see,{I shall contented with my Fortune be,{To know one country holds my Love and me.
While you are free, in France, perhaps the fear
Of not returning Love for Love may keep you there.
{But mind not that, if you I sometimes see,
{I shall contented with my Fortune be,
{To know one country holds my Love and me.
Why with vain Hopes do I my Reason blind?To one less doting you may prove more kind.Pride in another may a Conquest gainGreater than mine, with all the endless PainOf constant Love, which I ’ve endur’d for you:But, oh! from me take Warning what you do;Retract your Heart ere yet (it) is too late,And think upon my too too wretched Fate,Reflect upon my endless Miseries,Despairs, Distractions, and my Jealousies;Think on the Trust that I ’ve repos’d in you,Th’ Extravagance which all my Letters shew.
Why with vain Hopes do I my Reason blind?
To one less doting you may prove more kind.
Pride in another may a Conquest gain
Greater than mine, with all the endless Pain
Of constant Love, which I ’ve endur’d for you:
But, oh! from me take Warning what you do;
Retract your Heart ere yet (it) is too late,
And think upon my too too wretched Fate,
Reflect upon my endless Miseries,
Despairs, Distractions, and my Jealousies;
Think on the Trust that I ’ve repos’d in you,
Th’ Extravagance which all my Letters shew.
I well remember you in Earnest said,For one in France you once a Passion had.If she ’s the Reason why you don’t return,Be free, and let me thus no longer mourn;For if my Hopes and Wishes are but vain,Tell me theTruth——And end at once my wretched Life andPain.——To me her Picture and her Letters send,They ’ll make me worse, or else my Fate amend;Such is the State of miserable me,That any change would advantageous beYour Brother’s and your Sister’s send me too,All will be dear to me that ’s so toyou.——Methinks I cou’d submit to wait uponThe happy Woman that your Heart has won,So humble am I made by all your Scorn,And the ill Usage that from you I ’ve born;Scarce dare I say, I may myself allowTo Jealous be, without displeasing you,Fain wou’d I think that I mistaken am,And fain perswaded be, that you are not to blame.
I well remember you in Earnest said,
For one in France you once a Passion had.
If she ’s the Reason why you don’t return,
Be free, and let me thus no longer mourn;
For if my Hopes and Wishes are but vain,
Tell me theTruth——
And end at once my wretched Life andPain.——
To me her Picture and her Letters send,
They ’ll make me worse, or else my Fate amend;
Such is the State of miserable me,
That any change would advantageous be
Your Brother’s and your Sister’s send me too,
All will be dear to me that ’s so toyou.——
Methinks I cou’d submit to wait upon
The happy Woman that your Heart has won,
So humble am I made by all your Scorn,
And the ill Usage that from you I ’ve born;
Scarce dare I say, I may myself allow
To Jealous be, without displeasing you,
Fain wou’d I think that I mistaken am,
And fain perswaded be, that you are not to blame.
The Person that ’s to bear these Lines to you,Wants to be gone, and does impatient grow.I thought in this not to have giv’n Offence,But yet I ’m fall’n into Extravagance.And now methinks ’tis time that I had done,But I ’ve no Pow’r to end these Lines so soon,Nor force the pleasing Vision from my Sight;My lovely Charmer’s present while I write.{Twelve solitary Months are almost past{Since in your trembling Arms you held me last,{And fondly, to my Ruin, me embrac’d.Fierce, and true as mine, I thought your Flame,And, oh! believ’d ’twould always be the same.Ne’er cou’d I think, that when you had enjoy’dMy Favours, with them you ’d so soon be cloy’d:{Or that the Dangers of the Sea you ’d run,{Scorn Rocks and Pirates too, that you might shun{A Maid that lov’d like me, and is by you undone.{Reflect, thou faithless Man! and call to mind{What I ’ve endur’d for you, yet not repin’d,{And tell me, can this Treatment then be kind?
The Person that ’s to bear these Lines to you,
Wants to be gone, and does impatient grow.
I thought in this not to have giv’n Offence,
But yet I ’m fall’n into Extravagance.
And now methinks ’tis time that I had done,
But I ’ve no Pow’r to end these Lines so soon,
Nor force the pleasing Vision from my Sight;
My lovely Charmer’s present while I write.
{Twelve solitary Months are almost past
{Since in your trembling Arms you held me last,
{And fondly, to my Ruin, me embrac’d.
Fierce, and true as mine, I thought your Flame,
And, oh! believ’d ’twould always be the same.
Ne’er cou’d I think, that when you had enjoy’d
My Favours, with them you ’d so soon be cloy’d:
{Or that the Dangers of the Sea you ’d run,
{Scorn Rocks and Pirates too, that you might shun
{A Maid that lov’d like me, and is by you undone.
{Reflect, thou faithless Man! and call to mind
{What I ’ve endur’d for you, yet not repin’d,
{And tell me, can this Treatment then be kind?
The Officer now presses me to ’ve doneMy Letter, or (he says) he must be gone;He ’s as impatient, as if he, like you,Were running from another Mistress too,Farewel—from me you parted with more ease(Perhaps for ever too) than I can do with these.
The Officer now presses me to ’ve done
My Letter, or (he says) he must be gone;
He ’s as impatient, as if he, like you,
Were running from another Mistress too,
Farewel—from me you parted with more ease
(Perhaps for ever too) than I can do with these.
My Mind a thousand pleasing Notions frames,And I cou’d call you many tender Names;More dear than is my Life to me, are you;And dearer far than I imagine too;Sure never any yet so cruel prov’d,To be so barb’rous when so well belov’d.
My Mind a thousand pleasing Notions frames,
And I cou’d call you many tender Names;
More dear than is my Life to me, are you;
And dearer far than I imagine too;
Sure never any yet so cruel prov’d,
To be so barb’rous when so well belov’d.
’Tis hard to end,—See I begin anew,And th’ Officer won’t stay; oh! let him go:I write to entertain my self, not you;And ’tis so long, you ’ll never read it thro’,Gods! how have I deserv’d such Plagues as these?And why was you pick’d out to spoil my Peace?Oh! why was I not born where I might passIn Innocence and Happiness my Days?’Tis too too much to bear, no Tongue can tellWhat I endure—Farewel—false Man!—Farewel,See! see! how miserable I ’m made by you,When I dare not so much as ask your Love—adieu.
’Tis hard to end,—See I begin anew,
And th’ Officer won’t stay; oh! let him go:
I write to entertain my self, not you;
And ’tis so long, you ’ll never read it thro’,
Gods! how have I deserv’d such Plagues as these?
And why was you pick’d out to spoil my Peace?
Oh! why was I not born where I might pass
In Innocence and Happiness my Days?
’Tis too too much to bear, no Tongue can tell
What I endure—Farewel—false Man!—Farewel,
See! see! how miserable I ’m made by you,
When I dare not so much as ask your Love—adieu.